Lately I can’t get over how big my baby girl is. Ok, she’s not exactly a baby anymore. At 22 months, she’s much more of a mini person than a helpless, goggling baby.
She’s getting big. Really big. Her clothes have to be folded in half to fit in the drawer now. When she lays in my arms, limbs pour over the sides. Her crib looks like it may need an extension built on here soon. It’s honestly alarming how very big she’s getting. Or so I thought.
Then, the other night, as we were taking her big brother to (yet another) baseball practice, she insisted on walking to the field from the parking lot. (See? Only big kids do that, right?!) While I was in a hurry to get my son to his team, she was most definitely not in a hurry. So she fell safely behind.
I looked back and this is what I saw:
She looked so amazingly small at that moment. And my heart melted. For how far she’s come, but for far we still have to go. Together. Yes, I’m still holding on to my sweet baby girl — even if she’s not holding my hand every step of the way anymore.